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I never hated anyone more in my life than I did at that instant. Part of me knew I should have expected it – I couldn’t delude myself into thinking she was anything but a selfish b***h – but not to this level. This is… this is just wrong. But part of me still longed for her kiss, for her body to be pressed up next to mine.

No. You don’t hand over someone’s life like that, in a sorry attempt to save your own. Not only is it not your life to give, but it’s f***ing pathetic on your part; when Harry wins, she’ll look like an arse. That’s not anything new with her, though, even if she hasn’t realized it yet. She’s constantly trying to destroy other people, but one snarky retort will leave her bumbling. Well, I guess I know why she wasn’t a Ravenclaw.

I already knew why she wasn’t a Gryffindor.

*

“You good for nothing little sh**,” Carrow hissed, and Pansy stood frozen in fear as a boy was pulled to his feet by his hair. It seemed she’d been terrified almost constantly; one misstep and you’d be on the receiving end of the curse, not the giver. Pansy would be lying if she said she didn’t at least enjoy a little bit helping with detention; there was a certain thrill she couldn’t ignore whenever she heard someone scream. It was much more heightened and acute than the schoolyard taunts she’d had to make do with for so long, and the normal dull, vibrating emptiness that had forever gnawed at her stomach was replaced with the swirling of excitement.

This time was different, though. Underneath the mess of bruises and cuts, Pansy recognized the person she’d been torturing, and felt something snap. Her stomach churned, and it took every ounce of Pansy’s self-restraint not to lose everything she’d eaten. She was a sick, sick person for doing that to… to him. And Pansy was weak.

She’d stopped. Just froze in a room with the Carrows and Slytherins. There was a reason Draco always called her stupid…

“Did your little sl** finally recognize you?” Carrow sneered.

The only think Pansy could thing was ‘f***’.

*

Everything was blurry. I didn’t know how this was happening, how my hands ended up intertwined in her brown hair, or how my body was pressed up against hers, or why it felt like this. She is a Slytherin for Merlin’s sake, and a f***ing b**** at that! This is the girl who caused the first years to be chained in the dungeon, who laughed as she used the Cruciatus curse on my best friend. She’s not even pretty; her face was rather flat, like a pug’s, and there was almost something sickly about the rest of her body.

I was intoxicated by the smell of her perfume, though, and something inside my brain was telling me that this was right, that this was good. Her hands slowly found their way down my back, and all it took was a slight bite from her to make me groan. Somehow, we stumble into the room, and there’s a bed.

The fiery monster inside my stomach completely shuts off the rest of my head when her hands start knotting my hair.

*

“You’re supposed to be in your dormitory,” Pansy says, mustering any authority she can into her voice. She hates patrol, but she’d been trying to avoid detention. The thrill she’d gotten scared her, and the only other option besides be the one being tortured would be patrol. The Dumbledore’s Army twits were always scampering around, trying to stoke a revolution or something. Didn’t they see it was hopeless?

“Well, what are you going to do about it?” a voice replied, stepping out of the shadows. It was that Ravenclaw arsewipe, Anthony Goldstein, but surprisingly, he was alone. “I know you’re not going to turn me in.”

“Why not?” Pansy’s voice was cold. She’d turn in her own mother in an instant if it meant avoiding the Carrow’s wrath. “I could lie and tell them you were the one vandalizing. They’d kill you.”

“You can’t do that,” he replied, smiling. There was just something infuriating about that boy, from his cocky grin to the way his blond hair always lay almost perfectly flat. “You like to think you’re a heartless b***h, but you’re just a spineless fool. I’m going to go now.”

“No, you’re not.” Now Pansy was angry. “I’m going to take you to-“ She never got to finish, though, because Anthony’s lips crashed onto hers. It was nothing like she’d ever felt – as much as she hated to admit it Draco’s kisses were as limp and lifeless as a flobberworm – and something stirred inside her.

But suddenly, he was gone. That little sneaky sh**.

*

As soon as I saw her, I smiled. The famous Pansy Parkinson, crying in a corner after trying to do the Cruciatus curse. Every legend I’d heard about her must have been false; she was nothing more than a scared, idiotic little girl. I could use that to my advantage. With her on patrol, the D.A. could get away with almost anything.

I thought it’d be too easy, but I should have known not to underestimate her. Despite everything, she was a Slytherin.

Title: For the LivingPairing: Hannah/LunaWarnings, rating: 6th-7th years, mild sexual situations, slashA/N: This is a little random, hehehe.

Funerals are for the living, and not for the dead.

Luna’s mother had always told her this. They had been to her grandfather’s funeral, and watched him being buried. He was old and frail, and Luna quite frankly had no idea how he’d lived so long. But then her mother’s funeral happened, and she realized that it wasn’t the old and frail that always died. People died young too.

*

At the moment, Luna doesn’t know how to react to the funeral being held before her. She doesn’t know this person well enough, but her father knew the family; and the woman’s daughter, Hannah, is a Hufflepuff at Hogwarts.

Luna only recognizes Hannah. They have never spoken.

The Abbotts are all gathered to mourn Hannah’s mother, whose death is a huge, rude shock. Everyone at Hogwarts who knew her has been excused for a day to attend the funeral. Luna can see people crying all around her. She, however, can’t understand the point of tears. There are always ups and downs in life. And every time there is sadness, happiness has to follow. So why cry, when you will finally be happy?

Hannah is standing alone in a corner, her dark eyes staring downwards, and her brown hair in a bun. Luna approaches her. “I’m sorry about what happened,” she says, halting beside Hannah and talking without preamble.

Hannah looks up and nods. “Thank you.”

“Funerals are for the living, not for the dead,” Luna remarks, repeating her mother’s words.

Hannah seems bewildered by this. Luna wonders if she has said something wrong – people often look at her like that when she hasn’t said the right thing. But then, Hannah’s eyes are filling up now. She sniffles. “You’re right.”

“You really think so, don’t you?”

“I do,” says Hannah. “Because Mum…” her eyes turn skywards, and Luna realizes that they’re a rather nice shade of brown. “She’s gone somewhere,” Hannah continues. “We have to live without her.” She sighs. “I have to live with no-one around… it’s obviously going to come to that someday.”

“You don’t have to say that,” says Luna. “I’m used to it anyway. But yes, we all deserve someone special.”

Hannah smiles. “Thank you.”

“You said that once already.”

“Thank you again, then,” she wipes away her tears, and pulls Luna into a hug. Luna returns it. She likes hugs. They feel good. But the better part of their embrace comes when they break apart, and when Hannah locks her lips with Luna’s.